She handed me R10 note.

“Frank, go and buy R10 Cell C. I just want to make a call to let the rest of the family know,”

And off I went. On my way to the shop I was thinking about this ganja and how cool it was. It was meant for me, I thought, because I had never felt so cool. I was a bit dizzy and it was like I was walking on air.

I was high.

That was what my friends usually said and I was so impressed my mother didn’t notice that I was high. Wow! Things were fine for me while my mother was in tears. I had heard what she said but it didn’t bother me.

And what I noticed was that if I were sober I would have cried, a lot. So to me everything was fine. As I was walking on air feeling good about myself, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I saw my father talking to his number one enemy, Mr Pillay, Mpumi’s father, my number one enemy.

Those two couldn’t stand each other. Mr Pillay always threatened my father and blamed him being fired at work, and for his son being expelled at school. Anyway, just ignored them, I thought to myself as I walked passed them.
When I got to the shop I pressed the buzzer and the Indian guy came, half naked at the top.

“How can I help you?” he asked.

“Eish, I hesitated.

“What’s wrong young man?” he asked me.

“Eish I’ve forgotten what they’ve sent me to buy and they told me just now. But I think it’s Grandpa,” I said as I handed him the money. Yes, really I think it was Grandpa because mom was stressed and maybe it was a headache.

I was on my way back home when I saw Papzo fighting with Pele. I instinctively went to go stop them. I got a free lesson from Papzo; he gave me a punch on my face. Yoh it was so painful that I just went back home.

When I got to the gate I could hear a huge argument from inside the house. I held the door open and handed my mother Grandpa. I didn’t want to be in the middle of my parents fighting.

“No!” yelled my mother. “I wanted to make a call remember? I said airtime,” said as she got furiously angry with me.

“Oh mom you’re now overreacting. We all make mistakes,” I said knowing for sure that I was in trouble.

Suddenly I heard a voice calling me like he was insane.

“Frank,” it was my dad, “young man I’ve heard that you were sent by your brother to buy cigarettes from the shop. Is that true?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Mmm… But your mother says your brother has passed on today, stabbed 16 times on the chest because he thought he was cool. And I’ve told him several times to stop smoking. And he began just like you, telling lies!” he said in a serious voice. “Out of my sight!” he shouted.

In the course of the coming days I became a smoker.

Days leading up to the funeral people were talking. They said if you are a gangster you’ll be buried like a gangster.

Guess what I saw at the funeral, GTIs, GOLFs, BMWs, cars written VW Daveyton Club 1520.

Those cars made a lot of noise and my friends liked it. So did I. But not my parents, they were furious and didn’t like the way the funeral went on. It was like party or a night club.

Days and weeks passed. My father was offered a job far away from home in, Pretoria, to build a church. So he was supposed to spend time there until the building was done. I was happy because I would smoke ganja the way I wanted to.

One morning my mother was still asleep and I heard a whistle outside. I stood up to check what was up, who was it!

“My laatie go ask for some moola from your mama,” said Ben, another friend of mine, standing outside my window.

“Okay,” I said.

I went to steal money from my mother’s purse and gave it to Ben. We smoked it all for the day.

The next day I got into an argument with mom for stealing her money. She couldn’t go to the clinic because I had stolen her taxi money. It was bad of me, but at that point, I just couldn’t be sad or bothered.

***

Tell us what you think: What do you think contributes to young kids getting hooked on drugs?